Safety of the mind
by Tovarich
Summary: Matthew wants to stay in this safe place inside his mind, but he will have to face reality.


The snowflakes were lightly falling from the dark clouds, low in the sky. Sunlight weakly broke through this bleak ceiling. The white snow quickly turned the same colour as the clouds, dirtied by the intense traffic of this early afternoon. It was Saturday and the town was buzzing with agitation despite the frozen atmosphere. From his little studio, on the seventh floor of a tall, dull and grey apartment building, Matthew saw all the little silhouette hurrying in the streets below his window. He had nothing to do outside that day. No need to confront the ruthless winter.

The noises of the town below reached his ear, filling the empty space of the dimly lit room. Some people may find it irritating, like an intrusion of the outside world inside their bubble of intimacy but Matthew disagreed with him. It reassured him, knowing that despite his current loneliness, there were still life out his apartment. He only had to get out and he wouldn't be alone anymore. Other humans, like him were there and he could mingle with them. Be a part of a greater thing. A grain of sand in a desert, a snowflake on the grey pavement. An individual among so many others. Similar but different at the same time.

The heart-warming laughter of children running on the busy street mixed with the horns of impatient cars along with the roaring of their engines and the mass of shapeless chatter that rose from the crowd. That was a pleasant background noise. Not intrusive, neither stressful. You didn't have to listen to it, you could simply ignore it and meditate. In his opinion, this was music for his soul.

When he heard the sound of his micro-wave announcing him that his hot cocoa was ready to be drunk, he went to retrieve his beverage. The mug was too hot to be taken with his bare hands, so Matthew used the thick sleeves of his red sweater to hold it. He then returned to his previous place, in front of the large window. The icy air seeping through the glass, just enough to be aware of the outside temperature without truly affecting the comfortable one inside.

He usually enjoyed the snow, but that day the weather made him feel rather melancholic. For some unknown reason, he always found himself thinking about past events that shouldn't matter anymore. He couldn't concentrate on anything else and to say the truth, it was rather frustrating. He should be revising for his oncoming exams, not remembering some irrelevant reminiscences.

Maybe he should have planned something for this weekend rather than expecting to be working on his biology courses. His warm, sugary drink forgotten on the windowsill where the blond man had put it for in to cool a bit. In this moment, he appeared to be depressed, lifeless and empty. At least he looked the way he felt. He wanted to do nothing, just staying there, in front of the window and letting his thoughts drift away to an unreachable place. His distant amethyst eyes openly staring at nothing. It wasn't like he could focus on anything if he wanted to. But he even lost the will to try. Maybe this was just his mind telling him to let go for once.

He had had a lot of stress lately and very little sleep. He didn't take one moment for himself. He didn't have time. His social life had also died along the way, all his friends had pretty much given up on trying to get him to go out a bit. For weeks, he had lived as a hermit, living on coffee and maple syrup. Basically, he was a mess of sleep deprivation and bad eating habits. Nothing new under the clouds.

He could feel a dull pounding in his head, he felt tired of doing nothing, tired of trying to follow his running thoughts to the darkest corners of his subconscious memories. He felt so exhausted even feeling emotions was barely possible. His entire being was engulfed in an endless numbness.

He mechanically took the mug and drank the half of it in one gulp. It was still too hot and burned his tong but he couldn't seem to care. He vaguely contemplated that time must have been stretching, because it seemed like he had been standing here for an eternity and yet his drink was still so warm. But the reflexion quickly evaporated.

Maybe later, he would call Alfred just to talk a bit, ask him how he was. It had been such a long time since he had last spoken to his twin and he really missed him. thinking about his brother made him smile sweetly, he was looking forward to hearing his voice. He could already imagine his excited, booming tone as he would pick up the phone. People tended to think Alfred was too loud, too obnoxious, but he loved it that way. It never failed to make him feel better, like Alfred's enthusiasm was contagious. Perhaps it was, indeed. His brother's cheerful smile flashed before Matthew's eyes, his joyful laughter ringing in his ears, and Matthew felt his heart flutter in happiness. Yet this wave of pure glee was accompanied by an indistinct feeling of dread and sorrow. He pushed those emotions aside, letting euphoria submerge him, bathing in his elation, drowning in exhilaration.

Suddenly, the door at the end of the short corridor opened and when Matthew turned around, he noticed a man had entered. With his straw blond hair attached in a loose pony-tail, his traits were more visible. He looked to be in his thirties. An uncomfortable feeling sank in Matthew's stomach, feeling that he knew this man, rather well actually, yet he couldn't define who he was. If he had been able to come in without even knocking on the door, they must have known each other well. The man began walking, approaching the window. Had this room always been so huge? It took the stranger way too long to reach the other side of the studio. It was like a mirage, the man was walking but he remained just as far away from Matthew's position, if this continued he would never reach him.

Matthew saw the lips on the other's face move but the voice was lost in the space separating them. He tried to focus on those mysterious, unheard words, but to no avail. Matthew closed his eyes, thinking that perhaps, if he couldn't see the lips move, he would hear the sound it produced. It didn't work. Before he could even reopen his eyelids, he felt a firm grip on his right shoulder and found himself gazing into two tiny but incredibly deep seas. Those eyes reminded him of Alfred's, but the only thing they shared were their cerulean colour. Those eyes looked older, more serious. Professional. Yet they also looked friendly and full of concern. A smile grew on the man's lips when he met Matthew's curious pupils. A smile that told him that he didn't need to worry, that everything would be alright.

The man spoke again, but his words were still lost to the younger blond. Confusion and frustration mixed together, causing him to frown. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of this situation. Each time his eyes reopened, his vision grew a bit hazier, like fog surrounded them, filling up the air in the little room. Soon he couldn't see the stranger anymore but he started hearing his name being pronounced by a man's voice. Was it the stranger's? He liked that voice, it was reassuring, it made him feel safe.

Matthew kept his eyes closed for a moment, his head felt fuzzy and he didn't understand what was happening. He tried to focus on the disembodied voice, he felt like he had to somehow follow it, that it would save him. What did he need to be saved from? Was there something dangerous lurking in the now impenetrable fog? Matthew felt vulnerable, like a child lost in a supermarket, looking for his parents, trying not to get stepped on by uncaring adults. And this masculine voice was like the tall silhouette of his father.

Slowly his eyes opened once again, only this time, when he looked around, it wasn't the familiar room that he called his home that was around him. He sat on an armchair, in a white, sunny room. In front of him on a black chair sat the man from before. He could now both see and hear him. Yet incomprehension overwhelmed him and the man's presence didn't feel so much like a synonym of safety. He now felt a bit wary towards him. Only now did the young man notice that the person in front of him wore a white coat, like that of a doctor. On his crossed legs laid a notebook and he held a pencil in his right hand.

Both men exchanged a curious glance, like none of them understood the current situation.

"How are you today Matthew, did you have a nice week? Sorry I was late for our appointment."

"Who are you?" Was Matthew's only reply. His voice was so low even he could barely hear his own words. Yet the man across him seemed to understand him perfectly. He calmly answered. "I am the doctor Bonnefoy, but you usually call me Francis." Matthew didn't say anything after that. His real question hadn't really been answered, but he was reluctant to interrogate Francis further on that matter.

"You know why you are here, right?" Matthew only shook his head no, causing the doctor to sigh. "So, you don't know who I am either, do you?" He earned the same answer from his patient. He took his chin in his hand and thoughtfully looked at his notes. After a moment of silence, he asked Matthew what he remembered. Not knowing what to say, Matthew told him about what he had been thinking about before the doctor's arrival. At the mention of Alfred, Francis winced slightly. But maybe Matthew had imagined it, why would his brother's name cause pain to anyone? Sure, he could be annoying, but he would never hurt someone. He really didn't understand. What kind of doctor was Francis, and why did he see a doctor in the first place?

All those questions spinning in his head made him a bit dizzy, his heart raced in his chest and he could feel sweat on his face, under his eyes, on his cheeks. Or was it tears? Why would he cry? He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see. Francis' voice faintly reached him, soothing. He could feel hands on his shoulders, or rubbing his back, he didn't know. His world was reduced to his twirling thoughts and the black-out of his mind. He let his head fall against something hard and warm, but somehow soft too, welcoming. He simple stayed like that letting go of himself, losing all control over both his body and mind with no intention to reclaim it. Something a bit scratchy pressed again his cheek, Matthew wondered what it could be in a corner of his mind that wasn't yet overwhelmed by his utter panic. He couldn't process what was said to him, yet it helped him calm down.

He started breathing again, although with difficulty. Each breath he took was shaky, but he was finally breathing again. A hand rubbed his back and another hold his shoulder in a firm grip. Slowly he realized that a voice uttered words in a language he could perfectly understand but he couldn't recognize right away. It was like a distant childhood memory, buried under too many years of chaotic life. Half-forgotten but still alive despite everything. Waiting to be awoken, to be remember. Like the furniture in an old, uninhabited house, hidden under a thick layer of dust.

French! The doctor spoke French! Like his father when Alfred and he were small children. The realization made him smile. Slowly he regained control over himself, drying the wet trails on his cheeks and rubbing his reddened eyes softly. The hand on his back moved on his other shoulder holding him comfortingly. He wanted to bury his head in Francis' chest again and resume his crying but he knew perfectly well that this wasn't an option. Matthew wasn't a helpless child anymore, Francis wasn't his father even though he spoke French, and he certainly wouldn't hold the young man against him to console him. When Matthew looked up at the therapist, he was met with a sad, concerned and affectionate smile. However, this made Matthew feel slightly uneasy. Indeed, why did Francis seem so sad for him, did a tragedy occur that Matthew didn't know about?

"Where is Alfred? Can I see him, or talk to him please?" His voice was hoarse from all the tears he had spilled.

The doctor kneeled in front of Matthew and squeezed his wrist in a comforting manner, increasing his young patient's discomfort. Now Matthew knew for sure that something was wrong, terribly wrong, and it probably had to do with his brother. A lump formed in his throat, which he tried to swallow but couldn't. He tried to hide his apprehension under a shy smile.

"We can go see him later if you want. For now, you need to rest. Come I'll take you to your room."

Matthew stood up and let his therapist lead him to an elevator. They went up to the seventh floor of what Matthew now realized was a hospital.

The room was clean, simple, the furniture only contained the minimal. It looked impersonal, lifeless. Matthew sighed once the door closed behind him and went to lie on the bed. He drifted asleep almost immediately.

A knock was heard on the door and Francis entered the room, an affable smile gracing his face. Matthew sat down, rubbing the remnant of sleep from his eyes. The doctor sat beside him and took a deep breath before looking Matthew in the eyes. He prepared to speak, but Matthew didn't want to hear those words. He already knew. He just couldn't realize, couldn't process the information yet. His brain was trying to keep him sane by hiding the obvious truth from him.

"Please, can we go to visit Alfred? You don't have to tell me anything, just lead the way." He said that in a whisper, full of unshed tear and pregnant despair.

they took the elevator once again, Francis supporting Matthew by putting an arm around his waist. They got out and Francis guided him through a sanitised floor, full of doctors and nurses, buzzing with agitation. He could hardly walk on his wobbly legs and would surely already have fallen down without Francis' help. The corridor seemed endless, they were barely advancing even though they were walking, Matthew was sur of that.

He wanted to scream, to yell at Francis that in fact he didn't want to visit Alfred anymore, that he needed to throw up, or at least stop for a bit, for him to breathe more steadily. He wanted to cry and be held tight by Francis again. He wanted to go back to the small studio where he could stand before the window and see the tiny humans on the street live their lives while he was safe inside his room, with maple syrup, hot cocoa, and his memories. But he couldn't. No words escaped his sealed lips. So, he kept walking, with his eyes fixated on the white wall at the end of the corridor. He focused on Francis like he was the only tangible thing in the whole world, which in this moment he certainly was.

The therapist opened a door.

Inside Matthew saw the unmoving form of the most important person in his life. He approached slowly, fearfully, feeling his stomach turn and sink, his heart stopped beating. His cheeks were wet once again. There he crumbled on the floor, beside the hospital bed. He buried his head in the unmoving chest of his twin, shutting out the steady beeping of the machines that kept his body alive. Nothing made sense in his life anymore. Everything that mattered had gone, lost to him. Forever.

He tried to engrave in his mind the cheerful smile, booming voice and obnoxious laughter that had been by his side since his very first day. He tried to imagine the cerulean eyes, vast and happy like a summer sky. He would do everything to never forget the endless enthusiasm and strength contained in that youthful, broken body. He hugged his brother's chest tightly, letting a whole ocean of teardrops rain on it. He cried for the whole of eternity and more.

Francis was looking at the ground from where he stood, on the door step. He didn't how to act. Matthew probably needed some time alone with his brother. But staying away from the young man, watching him suffer from afar, it was torture to him. His throat constricted as he desperately tried to avoid the salty droplets stinging his eyes from falling down. He couldn't afford to be weak and lose control over himself in such circumstances. He had grown to like that blond boy in those previous months, feeling a strong affection towards him. He didn't know in which way he liked him however, and it scared him. This, and the fact that Matthew was his patient and he was not to have any personal relationship with him. Of any kind. But those considerations could wait, this wasn't a pressing matter now.

After debating, he finally decided that Matthew certainly needed support over intimacy.

Matthew felt two hands grip his shoulders. He was grateful for Francis to manifest his comfort silently. He just stayed hunched over the body on the bed, he still had tears to cry, wordless sentences to say to those unhearing ears, unlived moments to share with his lifeless twin.

He genuinely wanted to give up and die, but he couldn't disappoint Alfred now. He had to live for both of them. Meet both their expectations and give Alfred the life he wouldn't get. He would be happy for two. It made him smile, a true smile, full of happiness and a will to live that submerged him, chasing away the sadness, the sorrow, the grief to a corner of his mind. It would remain there, Matthew knew this. These feelings wouldn't miraculously go away, he would always feel this ache in his heart. But he would never let them take control of him, submerge him completely and leave him dead inside like they did.

He turned his head towards Francis, a confident, hopeful smile on his thin lips and got up. He kissed Alfred's forehead, saying goodbye, or rather see you soon. Francis didn't understand what happened in his patient's eyes but he was happy to see them shine like he had never seem them do before. Right then, they looked exactly like too perfect, precious gemstones.

Matthew took his therapist's hand and lead him out of his brother's room closing the door behind them. Alfred could rest now, Matthew would live and tell him about the world and its wonders when they would meet again.


End file.
